


The Wolf of Elvhenan

by Caritas_Lavellan



Series: Lines to a Bad Wolf [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Bad Poetry, Dragon Age/Tennyson, Except it's the Wolf of Elvhenan, F/M, I'd say it was doggerel but it's clearly wolferel instead, The Lady of Shalott, With apologies to Bioware and Alfred Lord Tennyson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-21
Updated: 2017-03-21
Packaged: 2018-10-09 00:43:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10399890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caritas_Lavellan/pseuds/Caritas_Lavellan
Summary: Mostly just because... well, why not? Have some wolferel, people.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sliceofmooncake (Aesoteric)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aesoteric/gifts).



> Credit for the inspiration: [With a Promise to Return](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10389564).

**Part I**

On either side the river lie  
Great aravels that heave and sigh,  
That cross the woods and touch the sky;  
And thro' his dreams the road runs by  
To many-tower'd Arlathan:  
The giant citron-puffing vine,  
The crystals round the lyrium mine,  
Reflected in the water's shine,  
Through all of Elvhenan.

Where the willows weep and quiver,  
Little breezes dusk and shiver  
Down the road that runs forever  
Through the desert’s dried up river,  
All the way to Solasan.  
Sandstone walls, and sandstone towers,  
Overlook a space of flowers,  
And the buried shrine imbowers  
The Wolf of Elvhenan.

Round th' oasis, unassail'd,  
Stomp the heavy giants trail'd  
By slow tuskets; and unhail'd,  
Each year they fadeth, his pre-Veil'd  
Memories of Arlathan:  
But who hath seen him wake from sleep?  
Or from his shrine beheld him peep?  
Or doth he solemn purpose keep,  
The Wolf of Elvhenan?

Only miners, stout and hoary,  
Deep within the spiral quarry,  
Feel the warning predatory,  
Round the temple territory,  
From the doors of Solasan:  
And by the moon the miners headed  
To their sleep, when they lie bedded,  
Listening, whisper: “tis the dreaded  
Wolf of Elvhenan.”

 

**Part II**

There he dreams by night and day,  
Entranced by magic dark and fey.  
He hath heard a whisper say,  
The orb lies safer if he stay  
Asleep, and dream of Arlathan.  
He knows not where the orb may be,  
And so he dreameth steadily,  
And little other care hath he,  
The Wolf of Elvhenan.

But moving thro’ the glowing Fade,  
Though he might stay within his glade,  
Shadows from the world invade.  
There he sees Tevinter splayed  
Gloating o’er lost Arlathan:  
Through the dark and dreaming ages,  
Glory lost in subtle stages;  
Filthy shemlen battlemages,  
On the corpse of Elvhenan.

Sometimes he dreams of fiery blades,  
Of ambush, skirmishes, and raids;  
Sometimes lovely elvhen maids,  
With soft skin and their hair in braids,  
Among the spires of Arlathan;  
And sometimes in the Fade go through  
The spirits dancing two and two:  
He hath no companion true,  
The Wolf of Elvhenan.

But in his dreams he is resigned  
To walk the many paths that wind,  
For oftentimes he still might find  
A spirit friend: sweet, gentle, kind,  
And wise, forgetting Arlathan.  
But when they broke the Golden City  
With elf-slave blood, he had no pity:  
“A blight on all your lands,” did spit he,  
The Wolf of Elvhenan.

 

**Part III**

An aeon later, he did stand  
And weep for all the gains he’d planned.  
Corypheus held his orb in hand:  
Its magic foisted as a brand  
On this girl Lavellan.  
A Dalish child forever bound,  
To all his powers, lightning-crown’d,  
And would she ever come around,  
To bring back Elvhenan?

This woman listened hungrily  
To all his tales of history,  
And she laughed most merrily,  
To hear of crystals twined in trees,  
The crystal spires of Arlathan:  
And as she closed each glowing rift,  
He felt his pulse grow faint and swift;  
And as she smiled he felt it lift,  
The pain of Elvhenan.

Up through the white and drifting snow,  
With Haven’s best, from Haven’s woe,  
The Herald and the Herald’s crow,  
For he had seen, and he did know,  
The way up to Tarasyl’an.  
And once, under the starry night,  
Beside the veilfire brazier bright,  
He told her it was theirs by right,  
That orb from Elvhenan.

Her wisdom brightened the abyss.  
She changed his world with one sweet kiss,  
And while he dream’d of endless bliss  
And knew that it would be remiss  
Not to confess of Arlathan:  
On the balcony that day  
She encouraged him to stay,  
And confess his love and say,  
_Ar lath, ‘ma vhenan._

He left his dreams, sought not to hide,  
He held her hand, walked side by side.  
He left her, and she knew he’d lied.  
He knew that in his soul he’d tried  
To abandon Arlathan.  
She took the orb, the Breach defied:  
The orb fell, crack'd from side to side,  
And though the magister had died,  
So too had Elvhenan.

 

**Part IV**

In the autumn forest, groaning  
With Qunari troops a-moaning,  
His apostate garb disowning,  
For his absence part-atoning  
In a shrine of Arlathan;  
Round he turn’d and waited for her  
For though he could not restore her,  
He would evermore adore her:  
His belov’d _vhenan._

And through the mirror’s great expanse -  
Like some bold seer in a trance,  
Seeing all his own mischance -  
With a glassy countenance  
Did he walk to Arlathan.  
And at the closing of the day  
He’d sweep all the Veil away;  
From the chaos borne astray,  
The Wolf of Elvhenan.

Lying, robed in forest green  
Dreaming of what might have been  
If he’d taken her as queen  
If he’d been not quite as keen  
To restore old Arlathan:  
And as the spirits danc’d and play’d,  
He sought out a quiet glade  
To dream of his beauteous maid,  
New-restored in Elvhenan.

Heard them singing, mournful, holy,  
Chanted loudly, chanted lowly,  
Till his blood was frozen slowly,  
And his eyes were darken'd wholly,  
Blinded by bright Arlathan.  
But ere he could raise the Veil,  
Or for the land of dreams set sail,  
The Inquisition did prevail,  
Against the Wolf of Elvhenan. 

Under tower and balcony,  
By garden-wall and gallery,  
A broken man he floated by,  
As pale as Skyhold’s wintry sky,  
Imprisoned in Tarasyl’an.  
Out into the Hall they came,  
Arl and empress, lord and dame,  
And Josephine read out his name:  
_Fen’Harel of Elvhenan._

Who is this? and what is here?  
And in the guarded atmosphere,  
Died the sound of victory cheer;  
And they cross'd themselves for fear,  
Or shed a tear for Arlathan:  
But Lavellan mused a little space;  
She said, “He has a lovely face;  
By Mythal’s mercy lend him grace:  
The Wolf of Elvhenan.”

 


End file.
